


Big son of a b-

by HoshisamaValmor (HannibalCatharsis)



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 15:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibalCatharsis/pseuds/HoshisamaValmor
Summary: Nairobi remembers the last time she saw Berlin. (Obvious warning for language :)





	Big son of a b-

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Grande filho da p-](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076409) by [HoshisamaValmor (HannibalCatharsis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannibalCatharsis/pseuds/HoshisamaValmor). 



_The big son of a bitch._

Those were still the first words that came to Nairobi's mind when she thought of Berlin.

(She also still addessed herself as 'Nairobi'. Not that it was a constant, but whenever she recalled the heist, the group, any small detail in her memories at the Royal Mint or during the five months in Toledo, her brain immediately associated the name Nairobi instead of Ágata ou any other she might have ever used.)

She started to recall the end; the last time she saw him. Amongst so many moments to choose from, the first memory to come to mind could be any other instead of that one; she could recall him about to shoot Rio, or him yelling at her face that they were under his patriarchy, or him throwing Tokyo out the Royal Mint tied up to a fucking gurney, or him terrorizing the poor hostage until she broke, or him clenching a fist around her throat and throwing her to the table like a ragdoll. She could recall any of these or other similar memories that were such clear evidences of just how fucking inteligent and sociopathic Berlin had been.

Of course, this line of memories followed like she was unrolling a ball of wool on the floor, one after the other, but it started in the last and it kept returning to it. That last time.

At first, what bothered her most had been the cold hollow on the pit of Nairobi's stomach, that moment when she had realized without a hint of doubt what he intended to do. But now, what bothered her and took hold of her mind was the expression on his face when Helsinki had ripped her from where she stood and hoisted her up in the air to force her to go, screaming and crying, leaving Berlin to do what he wanted. Andrés de Fonollosa, the big narcissistic psychopathic son of a bitch with delusions of grandeur and the other few truths the press had said about him, had decided to sacrifice himself to save the group.

It was hard not to wonder, even now, if a part of him had done it to provoke them, mock them, show them in one last way that he was better then them and they depended on him. But then she recalled his face.

Nairobi and Berlin clashed due to personality. Not in the same fashion as Berlin and Tokyo did, but still, the similarities between them were considerable and the differences were noteworthy. They were both excellent professionals and none underestimated their skills. They weren't impulsive, and knew an even smarter person than themselves had built a plan too well structured for any of them to break. But Nairobi was a human being and Berlin was a psychopath. For that reason, it was normal that he took so much amusement from her displays of humanity, her spontaneity and her ideals. It was to be expected that Nairobi's reaction to those final minutes would amuse him: she wanted to take him out, like it was planned, like it would be  _human_  to think and act, regardless of their personal quarrels.

But he hadn't thrown any smuggish or sarcastic or superior smirk at her. His expression had not been a _'Don't think about it, idiot, do you think I'm coming with you? Just watch what I'm going to do so all of you can escape, I, the patriarch'_ , but instead a  _'No, Nairobi. I know you think we'll all go home, but we're not.'_  He couldn't stop from being himself, of course - but his last phrase hadn't been mockery, rather his own form of goodbye.

Of course Nairobi hated him then. The fucking son of a bitch was going to stay behind, he had planned to stay behind and hadn't told them anything. And instead of doing it with superiority, without emotion, without empathy, the last image Nairobi had of Berlin was him averting his gaze. Not rolling his eyes from lack of patience, but averting his eyes not to see the humanity and the honest emotion. So _he_  wouldn't show emotion in such a common and genuine way as a teardrop, one he would never allow to fall but that had gleamed in his eyes and she saw it. For all of them. Despite of it all, problems and strifes and clashing personalities, they had indeed become a family. A dysfunctional one. But were there any funcional ones out there?

Nairobi gazed down at her cellphone, peeking the day of the month. Today wasn't any date in particular. They hadn't reached the anniversary of anything, not hitting a month after the end of the heist, or two, much less one year, so she couldn't justify the thoughts as some sort of homage under the right timing or something. It was the most common of days, without any tie to the heist; the day had been great, without any event to leave her nostalgic or thoughtful. And yet here she was, sitting on the window of a luxurious penthouse of the size of a damn mansion with everything she could think of, staring at the beautiful city nightscape in front of her, millions of lights lit up like a tourist postcard, tall glass on one hand filled with champagne of a brand she could hardly pronounce the name outloud, thinking back on the fucking son of a bitch Berlin.

She raised her glass to the city and bowed her head without a word. She took a deep breath and drank, letting the tear fall through her cheek. Because she never had any problem admiting she was human and she felt sadness for losing a partner, world's biggest scumbag as he might have been.

.

the end

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Spontaneous idea that came after watching for the 10th or 11th time?, the final scene between Nairobi and Berlin.
> 
> The fic also has a portuguese version. Written to a beautiful version of Katsyusha by Maria Lazareva and to Bella Ciao version by Manu Pilas as it appears in episode 11.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
